


Jonsa Drabbles

by man_in_yellow



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:27:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25682011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/man_in_yellow/pseuds/man_in_yellow
Summary: A collection of drabbles and one shots
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 73
Kudos: 125





	1. In the Trees

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! 
> 
> So...I’ve never written a kiss scene or anything Jonsa before, but I was inspired by this prompt list on tumblr! 
> 
> https://athimbleful.tumblr.com/post/625328053042675712/fictional-kiss-prompts
> 
> Any feedback would be so appreciated 💛
> 
> P.s.  
> I’m new on ao3 sooo I’m still trying how to figure it all out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa meet in the godswood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A collection of Jonsa drabbles. 
> 
> In the Trees is the first one, and also the only Jonsa / kiss scene I’ve ever written. 
> 
> I hope to add more to the collection has inspiration hits.
> 
> Any and all feedback is so appreciated! 💛

It was not at all like the kisses that Petyr used to take from her. His had been greedy and rough, grasping for her to satiate his desire. They were cruel japes that reminded her of where she stood, reminding her that she was not her own, not in his eyes. Not in his grip. It had taken all she had within herself to stand there and let it happen and not recoil from his lips and run away. 

She used to go away inside when it happened, and tried to shut out the taste of mint and the feeling of his lips hard pressed onto her mouth. Those nights she lay awake in her bed and tried to imagine what a lover’s kiss might be like. _Gentle, mannerly, and sweet,_ she hoped. 

Now, Jon stood before her in the godswood, both of them blanketed in the purple black of the night. They’d exchanged glances all day. When she looked around to catch a glimpse of him she often found that he was already watching her. His gray, stormy eyes drinking her in.

They sat side by side during supper, like they always did, surrounded by people and their conversations. But when no one was watching Jon slipped his hand over hers under the table. No one noticed the way her heart beat against her chest. They were all eating and conversing, laughing and japing while Sansa had to focus on keeping her breaths measured and steady. But that proved difficult to do when he caressed her skin and traced circles into her palm. Fingers slipping into the sleeve of her gown to touch the skin beneath. The ghost of his finger tips caressing her between her fingers and down the length of them had her squeezing her thighs together as she imagined his hands on other parts of her.

Supper was over and everyone was leaving to retire for the night. Jon stood and pushed in his chair and then leaned down, bringing his lips down to her ear. And she wanted to turn her head and know the feel of his lips on her, right there in front of whoever still lingered. But she didn’t. She kept her back straight and her head still as he whispered in her ear.

“Meet me in the godswood.”

His breath was hot along her skin, and it was all she could do to not lean into him. She only closed her eyes for a quick second instead as a quiet, shuddering breath left her. Did he know at all the rush he sent through her?

She put on the cloak he’d left in her solar earlier that day. The black one that he first wrapped her up in at Castle Black. She was patching it up for him; she couldn’t bear for him to get rid of it. She wrapped it tightly around her and made her way out to the godswood like he told her to. The wind was biting and the snow drifted down in a flurry, but a smoldering heat simmered beneath her skin and ‘cold’ was farthest from what she was feeling.

“You came,” he said, as if he didn’t think she would. Even in the dark she could see the hunger in his eyes, and it made her cheeks burn.

“I. . .” She stopped, took a few shallow breaths, swallowed, tried again. “Yes. I’d go anywhere with you,” she said in a breathy voice.

His eyes softened at her words. His lips parted and he stepped toward her once, twice, and again until they were mere inches apart. Their breath rose in misty clouds between them and Sansa wondered if he could hear her thundering heart beat.

His eyes went from hers down to her lips. “Can I kiss you?” he asked in a hoarse whisper. Gods, if only he knew how her skin hungered for his touch. How she spent her nights wondering if his lips were as soft as they looked. How she had to endure the dull ache of desire deep in her belly that spread to her fingertips at the thought of being made his. She licked her lips and noticed how Jon bit his lower lip when she did.

“Yes,” she breathed.

A low, deep sound escaped him when she said so. He wound his arm around her waist, clutching her to him, making her stomach swoop. He walked her back slowly, until she was pressed up against a sentinel. She wrapped her arms around his neck, finding that his body against her didn’t feel suffocating, didn’t make her feel trapped. No; it felt comforting, anchoring, _wonderful_ to be held so close to him. To be tucked into the line of his body made her feel safe and strong all at once.

He leaned down, excruciatingly slow. Her hands trembled in anticipation when suddenly, _finally_ , standing in the silence, surrounded only by trees, after days of pining and desperately waiting -

Their lips met, softly as the heart tree leaves brush against each other. His lips moved gently against hers, and she was pleased to find that they were as soft as she imagined. The rest of him was hard, muscled, calloused, but the way he touched her and kissed her was so maddeningly tender. 

They tasted each other timidly for a few moments longer, until Sansa couldn’t fight back the hunger that rose within her and she tightened her arms around him, bringing him closer. A quiet moan sounded from the back of Jon’s throat, and he pressed his body flush against her. He moved his face and angled hers slightly to the side. Then his mouth crashed into hers. Their lips moved together languidly, slowly, hungrily. Her blood sang in her veins and she was sure he could feel her pulse on her lips, but she didn’t care. She wanted him to feel all of her. Standing here like this, lips locked in a passionate and ardent embrace, the truth of their deepest longing for one anther was poured into every kiss, and it was almost too much to take.

Sansa felt the tip of his tongue gently nudge into her mouth. She met it with her own, and hummed a long quiet moan at the taste of him, hot and wet in her mouth. Her breath racked from her now. The more of him she tasted the more she wanted. 

His panting breath hit her mouth no sooner than he was on her again, sucking, nipping, licking, tasting. His arm was around her waist again, fingers bunched up the fabric of her cloak and gown while his other hand braced the back of her head to him. She moved her hands to either side of his face and forgot where she was for a moment. The whole world fell away until there was just Jon. The smell of him filled her nose, his body pressed deliciously against her. His hand in her hair, the other inside her cloak now, hand on her back, nothing but the fabric of her gown separating their skin. His lips and tongue on her mouth, sweeter than honey, hot and smooth and wet and _oh_ , she could stay like this forever. She never wanted to feel this with anyone unless it was with him. Only him.

He pulled away, ever so slightly, the ghost of his lips over hers. The whispering wind and their ragged breathing the only sound in the entire godswood. Her head swam, dizzy with the pleasure of tasting and having been tasted by him.

“Sansa,” he said, slowly and reverently. As if she were a weirwood and her name was his prayer. He brushed his lips over hers teasingly before taking her bottom lip in his mouth and giving it a quick suck. 

“Gods, Sansa,” he said, voice thick. “You have no idea how long I’ve dreamt of doing that.” 

Sansa smiled at that. “I think I might have some idea,” she murmured into his mouth before pulling him to her once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on tumblr! I’m there as man-on-yell0w where I am my whole Jonsa trash self (:


	2. In the Spring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa reflects on her past while living in the dream she’d always hoped for.

Sansa Stark always dreamt of being a lady wife; perhaps to a gallant knight or handsome prince. As a girl sheplayed at the distressed princess who needed to be saved and protected from the monsters. Robb was always the brave hero to come to her rescue, she remembered fondly. 

She used to wrap her dolls in blankets and shawls with Jeyne, and pretended that they were her children. She remembered when Arya was just barely walking, Sansa used to braid her hair or carry her around the castle on her hip the best she could.

“Sansa, what are you doing?” her Septa had asked, bending down to take Arya in her arms. 

“She’s my baby,” Sansa had answered. She had been so excited to have a real-life baby girl to play with. That was before Arya had gotten older and preferred to play with swords instead of dolls, and running around in the mud rather than singing and embroidering.

And then Sansa got older. She left home to a place she thought would be magical.

How swiftly those hopes had been severed from her the moment the longsword came down upon her father’s neck.

And then all she wanted was Winterfell. Her family. But it would be a long time before she’d ever have them again.

Her dreams of a loving marriage and bearing her lord husband children she could name after her father and the brothers she had lost were dashed time and time again. She could not ever imagine loving Tyrion Lannister, although he had been kind to her. He was a Lannister through and through, and the way he looked upon her while she still felt like a child frightened her.

Her marriage to Ramsay was a cage more cruel than one she might find in a dungeon. She lay in her room all day, thinking of how foolish she had been as a girl to think that love could ever be meant for her. If the gods existed, they had destined her for broken dreams. Sansa shuddered at the thought of carrying Ramsay’s child within her. The Boltons were monsters; what would this child be like? Part of her couldn’t bear the thought. But the other part of her, the part that still hoped. . .

The child would only be half Bolton. The other half would be Stark. She could teach him, perhaps instill in him kindness and honor. She could take him to the godswood and teach him of her father’s gods. She could take him to the crypts and show him where her ancestors sat on their thrones. She could love him and hope that it would be enough to stifle any Bolton cruelty that he may be born with.

She would never know how that would have turned out, and for that she would always be grateful.

All the heartache and all the brokenness and cruelties she had to endure to get here could not touch the dream she found herself in now. 

Sunlight poured in through the windows, painting them golden where they lay. The breeze flowing in felt good on her sweat lined brow. She looked down at the babe in her arms, and could not fathom that such a little thing could make her heart swell so much. Tears streamed from her eyes as she took in his little face, his black curls, his Tully blue eyes.

 _He is perfect_.

Jon’s hand came up to her face and wiped away the tears before he kissed her temple.

“What will we call him?” He whispered.

She didn’t have think about it.

Her heart both mended and broke when she said, “Robb.”

His eyes welled at her response, and he nodded at her as a tear trickled down from his own soft gray eyes. Sansa kissed it away tenderly and leaned back on him as they both stared down at their baby. Robb Stark.

Jon’s arm curved around her tightly, hand resting on her thigh and against her belly, and Sansa knew she could stay like this with her little family forever.

Sansa was not a princess in distress any longer. She was a queen. She was not a wife to a knight or a prince, but to the King in the North who loved her so well she forgot the names and faces of the monsters from her past.

_Well_ ,  she thought,  _it seems my dreams came true after all._

But not even Sansa could have dreamt of a spring so perfect as this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had the scene of Sansa and Jon laying in bed with their newborn baby boy rolling around in my head. So I wrote this.
> 
> PS  
> Thank you for the kudos and comments on the first drabble! Your feedback is so appreciated. 💛


	3. In His Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa share a night together after they learn that he’s her cousin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, what can I say? I have a thing for Jonsa dirty talk. Enjoy!

Days ago this would have been wrong. The way his hand traced every line of her body, how she was pliant beneath his touch. The way she dreamt of him and woke up wet and sodden between the legs, her blood singing at the memory of her dream. Their panting breath staining the space between them would have been called blasphemous, her fingers curled inside herself as she imagined it was him buried inside her would be shameful. His lips on her neck and the delightful shiver it sent down her spine would have made them cursed before the eyes of men, the way her mouth hung open and her eyes rolled back as he rutted into her would have been the most wicked and wanton image.

But that was days ago, before they learned that she was not his sister and he was not her brother.

So her legs carried her to his room, a place she’d grown used to being in, and knocked on the wood of his door. The corridor was dark, the night was late, the candles were nearly out. There was no one around to see her wrapped in only her robe. No one to see the way her cheeks blushed in anticipation of seeing him, how her heart thrummed viciously in her chest.

He opened the door. Just like he did that one night, days ago, and let her in. When he kissed her and brought tears to her eyes when he said they shouldn’t. It was wrong, so they parted ways.

His curls were wild and undone. He stepped aside and let her through.

“Why are you here, Sansa?” He rasped, his brows knit together in concern.

“Don’t you know?” She replied. Suddenly, days of silence and anticipation brought her to a breaking point. With shaky hands and shaky breaths, she stepped toward him and took his hands. “You know how I feel. About you. And I’m tired of pretending that I don’t want you. That I don’t dream of you every night. That I haven’t laid awake replaying all our interactions over in my head and wishing that I could go back and tell you exactly how I feel. I’m tired of pretending—“

Jon’s chest was heaving now, and he cut off her words with a kiss to her lips, drawing a low sigh of contentment from her. He held her face in his hands and moved his lips so slowly it dizzied her. He broke from her, just barely, and murmured into her mouth.

“Oh, Sansa. You have no idea how much I’ve thought of you. How I’ve imagined us in my bed, twisted in bedsheets.” He crashed his mouth into hers again, sucking at her lips and tonguing the inside of her mouth, his tongue a wet and hot delight. Worshipful in the way he tasted her. She took one of his hands from the side of her face and placed it on her breast. He gasped and pulled from her, looking at her with widened eyes. Sansa flushed. Was she doing this right? Was she going too fast? She didn’t know, she just wanted his hands on her. “Sansa, I. . .is this. . .” He swallowed tightly and looked back and forth between her eyes. His hand was stiff on her, he hadn’t moved it, and Sansa felt foolish all of a sudden.

“Is this what, Jon?” She asked, half afraid that he would turn her away again.

“Is this what you want?”

He looked so young just now, and so beautiful illuminated by the firelight. And he was  right there , just like in all her dreams. Yes, this is what she wanted.  _He_ is who she wanted.

“I’ve wanted you for a long time, Jon. I wouldn’t have come here if I wasn’t sure of this.” She leaned into him, and let her lips brush his when she whispered, “Now show me all the things you imagined us doing in your bed.”

A low, husky groan came from the back of his throat. He kissed her. Hard and hungry and wild. It all together drowned her and made her feel like she was breathing for the first time. He went for the ties of her robe and untied them without any trouble. Sansa’s hands weren’t as steady as she reached for his breeches. He grabbed her wrists and stilled her hands.

“Not yet,” he rasped into her mouth. He lifted his hands up to her shoulders, and with the lightest touch, he pushed her robe back, making it spill to the floor and leaving her standing in nothing but her night shift. He stood back and looked at her, running the backs of his scarred fingers down the length of her arm. It was thrilling to be standing like this before him, to see the hunger in his eyes and feel her own growing between her legs. He pressed his lips to her jaw, her neck, her collar bone. His tongue traced a path to her shoulder where the thinnest piece of fabric holding her shift to her became too much barrier between them. He pulled it down and kissed her shoulder and went lower, lower, lower. He nuzzled the breast he held just moments ago, and then kissed her there over her shift. Sansa was frustrated now that she was even wearing the shift at all; she wanted nothing more than for him to tear it off of her. 

But he didn’t. He dropped to his knees before her and placed both hands on either of her thighs, pushing the fabric up, up, up. Jon’s eyes widened when he saw that she wasn’t wearing any small clothes, and Sansa’s blush deepened. He looked up at her. “I’d like to taste you Sansa,” he said, low and husky. “May I?” 

Sansa gulped and nodded down at him, not sure what to anticipate. He kissed her mound, nosed her slit, and then, in a way that sent a shock up her spine, he tongued her folds slowly. She stumbled back from the shock of it, and placed her hand on the wall to steady herself. 

“Mmm,” Jon moaned into her. The vibrations of his hum making her flutter. He pried her thighs open and circled his tongue over her entrance, licking up her arousal. He looked up at her, and without looking away, he kissed her higher up, right  _there_ ,  on that bundle of nerves that sang at the touch of his lips. “Get on the bed,” he murmured into her. She did as he said and stepped back until her calves hit his mattress, and then she sat. He made his way to her on his knees, too slowly for her liking. When he finally reached her he placed a hand on her chest and gently nudged her back until she was laying flat on her back, her legs dangling over the bed. 

Jon placed his palms flat on the inside of her thighs and spread her wide open to him, making her feel nervous at how exposed she was. 

“Gods, Sansa. Just look at you. You’re perfect.” With one swift motion, he grabbed the bottom of her thigh and threw it over his shoulder. And then the other one. He lowered his head, and starting at her entrance, he flattened his tongue and brought it up to her nub, where he stayed and licked circles over. She could feel her wetness growing at his ministrations, and the sweat that formed over her face and body. He brought the pad of his thumb over her cunt and rubbed her there. 

“ _Oh_ . Oh _gods_ , Jon,” she whispered. 

He only hummed into her, dragging his lips over her folds, over her nub, his thumb teasing her agonizingly, deliciously slow. And then, without warning, he plunged his forefinger inside. He kissed the insides of her thighs, and when she looked down she found him already looking at her, making her heart hammer even more violently in her chest. She reached down and placed her hand on his head, ran her fingers though his curls, felt the sweat that lined his forehead. He plunged a second finger inside her and her back arched up off the bed. 

“Do you like that, Sansa?” He asked into the fleshy part of her thigh. “Do you like my fingers inside you?” 

“Yes, Jon,” she gasped. “Yes. Gods, you don’t know how much I’ve craved this, how I’ve dreamt of you inside m— _ohh_!”  He pumped his fingers in and out of her, the sound of her slickness obscene and wanton and all the more arousing. His tongue swirled over her nub furiously, and she began to flutter around his fingers. 

“Tell me what you’ve dreamed of, Sansa,” he growled. “Tell me all the filthy things you’ve wanted me to do to you.” 

A pressure tightened in her belly as she let herself think and speak openly of her most private, wanton desires. It thrilled her, covered her in goosebumps, made her ache to the fingertips in her need of him. Her lips trembled when she let the words out of her mouth. 

“I want you all over me,” she whispered. “ Inside  me. I want you to touch me and taste me and  _fuck_ me, Jon.” 

He growled and shot up from the floor, swung her legs over onto the mattress, startling her in his ferocity. 

“Take that off,” he said, motioning to her shift as he undid the laces of his breeches. She nodded at him and sat up to lift the fabric over her head. He stood bare before her, his manhood hard and ready. And he just looked at her, let his eyes rove over her form. He got on the bed over her, his knees on either side of her hips. He placed his hands on her chest, and then moved them down over her breasts. He groped them gently, and took a nipple in his mouth. Sansa tilted her head back and grasped his shoulders. “Will you let me love you, Sansa?” He asked, his lips brushing her nipple. “I want to love you good and slow like you deserve. Will you let me do that?” His hand trailed down until his fingers found her waiting cunt, still wet and throbbing for him. She bucked her hips at his touch. “Will you let me bury my cock inside that beautiful wet cunt of yours Sansa?” He kissed his way up to her neck, sucking her skin, branding her with his mouth, while his fingers went halfway inside. She was made dizzy and breathless by his husky voice, his hands on her body, his lips on her neck, the words he spoke to her. 

“Sansa,” he whispered. “Will you come for me? I want you to come on my hand. I want you to come on my face with my tongue inside. I want you to come and scream with my cock deep inside you.”

“Oh gods, Jon,  _yes_. ” She reached for his cock herself, tired of waiting. She grabbed hold of him, surprised at his length, at the hardness of him. He bucked into her with a groan. She wasn’t sure where her boldness came from, but without a second thought she leveled him to her entrances and hitched her legs up over hips. She reached up and kissed his jaw.

“Fill me up, Jon. Good and slow.”

And he did.  _Oh_ ,  he  _did_.

They both moaned at his first thrust, and Sansa tightened her arms around him, needing him to stay close. He leaned his body down onto her, not letting his full weight on her, but enough that their flesh touched from chest down to where he rolled into her.

And how deliciously he did roll into her.

Slow, like he said, and full. Every pump dragged a feral need from her. She started tilting her hips up to meet him, not wanting to be empty of him for too long. Her walls started to flutter, and she melted at his response.

“ _Uhh_ ! Sansa—Sansa you’re so tight. Gods, so tight and  _wet_.”

“Do you know how many times I’ve slipped my fingers inside, Jon, imagining that it’s you who’s rutting into me?”

“Seven hells, Sansa. I don’t—I never. . . _fuck_.”

His hand went down to her nub again, and slid his fingers over it gently as his thrusts came faster, his rhythm disrupted.

“Just like that, Jon.” She squeezed her thighs over his hips, her walls contracting at her coming orgasm. “You’re so deep, Jon. So good and hard and deep.”

His voice was shaky and strained when he spoke into her ear. “Tell me what you want, Sansa.” His fingers worked over her nub. “Tell me how you want it.”

“Hard,” she blurted, surprising herself in her abrupt response. But Jon only grunted as he braced his arms at her sides, and drove into her. His moans, the feel of his body, his hips slamming into her dragged a wild and wanton need from her.

“Come for me Sansa,” he growled. “I want to feel that wet cunt squeeze around me.” Something about the way he commanded her lit a fire inside, and she wanted to do as he said. “Come for me now, sweet girl.” He moved his fingers faster over her nub and rutted into her relentlessly until she was taut beneath him, and then, blindingly, he pulled from her the hardest orgasm she ever had. She clenched down around him, the heat of her orgasm radiating and pulsating through her as she came and screamed his name, bit down on his shoulder, lifted her hips brutally towards his.

It didn’t take long for him to come after that, and when he did, he moaned her name into her neck and she held him as he rolled and bucked his hips into her, the sound of her wetness and their panting the only noise in the room.

He rolled off of her and pulled her into him, kissing her nose, her cheek, her lips. Their limbs twisted in bedsheets. Sweat still lined on their bodies. Laying in the stillness and quiet of the night. His hand curled over her waist tenderly, so different from how greedily he groped her just moments before.

Sansa fell asleep cradled by Jon in his bed, already anticipating the next time he’d be inside her, the next time she’d scream his name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what ya think!


	4. Brush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa is all too aware of Jon’s nearness, and how much she’d really like to touch him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short drabble that I wrote for someone on tumblr. The ask came from a list of 50 one-word prompts. This person chose #11-brush.
> 
> Comment and let me know what you think. 😊

They do this dance so often, Sansa has already learned the steps. It starts with a gaze, a quirk of his lips, a closing of the distance between them (though never fully). There is no music, just the sound of her own heartbeat in her ears, the low rasp of his voice, clothes stretching over skin with every move they make. But they never touch.

He’d been gone for so long beyond the Wall, she’d almost forgotten how strikingly gray his eyes were. Like stormy skies and granite walls. But they were never cold. No, not when he looked at her. Not when they sat in her solar alone. Not when the hours of the night crept up on them as they talked and laughed and remembered. Those eyes, though the very color of the bitter cold, lit a fire inside her. Warm, thrilling, and comforting all at once. 

There was a time—before Sansa understood what the word  _bastard_ meant, before she saw the shift in her mother’s eyes when Jon was around, or at the very mention of his name—that she vaguely remembered holding his hand as they all walked down to play in the crypts. Cold, little fingers latching onto longer, surer ones. Waking up cuddled into his side the morning after she’d crept into bed between him and Robb, claiming she had nightmares.

A hundred years ago Sansa would have easily swept the black curls away from her brother’s brow and tucked them neatly behind his ear.

But it wasn’t her brother who sat here now. It was Jon, her cousin, who sat so close to her she could see the fine lines around his eyes. He was saying something to her, smiling and running his hand through his hair. He knew...

Surely he knew what he was doing to her.

This dance was a dangerous one. The one where they pulled away from each other just before skin could sigh against skin. But she still let him in. She could never turn him away now. What was once easily dismissed now lives at the forefront of her mind.

(For the word  _cousin_ had opened up an entire world of opportunity between them, one Sansa never knew she wanted so much—with him.)

He was laughing, and she was too, when he sat up from his hunched position on the settee. He put his eyes on her, and let his laughter ease away, a delicate smile remaining on the line of his lips. A sigh escaped him and fanned her cheeks.

So close. Always _so close._

He would pull away from her now, at any moment. When there were no words left to say and they were fully too aware of each other’s nearness—that’s when it always ended.

Except it didn’t.

His eyes stayed on hers. Unshifting, unrelenting. Sansa could feel her heartbeat pick up, her ears tingling with a flush of red she knew he could see when her hair was pulled back the way it was now.

He set his arm on the back of the settee, and bent it toward him so that his face could lean on his fisted hand. In a movement that unarmed her and sent firefly wings fluttering inside her belly, he lifted his hand up to take her braid between his fingers, playing with the end of it.

He lowered his eyes to the motion, and swallowed thickly.

“I’ve missed you, Sansa,” he said, low and husky, stirring something in her.

Sansa thought she could see his own cheeks redden.

And the curls that swept over his forehead now would have to stay there, for she knew that a brush of her fingertips over his skin would send them into a whole new dance. A treacherously enticing one. One she didn’t think she’d be able to stop.

(One that they’d one day dance anyway.)


	5. Undesirable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon reassures Sansa of his desire for her after she expresses some insecurities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this came from an ask from one word prompt list on tumblr. The ask was #31-undesirable. 
> 
> Let me know what you think. 😊

Jon held her in his solar, kissed her beneath her jaw, wrapped his arms tightly around her body. He dragged his mouth back up to her lips, kissing her slow and strong, the way she liked. The way that always used to lead to their lovemaking. He slipped his hand lower down the back of her body and squeezed her bottom once, twice.

“Jon,” she said, breaking away from his warm, plush lips.

“Mmm,” he hummed, kissing her ear; below her ear; her jaw; making her shiver delightfully.

“Jon, we should stop. Someone might come in.”

“The door’s locked,” he breathed into her skin. “I want you, Sansa. Please. It’s been so long.”

The neediness in his voice lit a familiar fire in her. Her heart was thundering in her ears, desire for him already coiling deep in her belly. She wanted him too.  _Needed_ him.

They hadn’t lain together in weeks. She always feigned exhaustion, sleepiness. But now, in the middle of the day, what could she say to deny him?

(And it was getting harder and harder to deny him.)

He ran his tongue up from her chin to her ear, tracing her jawline. She dizzied at the wetness he lined her skin with, felt the way her breaths came shallower, how her skin started to sing beneath his touch.

Gods, he wasn’t making this easy.

“ _Jon_ , ” she gasped, pulling away from his grip. “I don’t. . .we really shouldn’t do this here. Now.”

He lifted his eyes up to hers, unsure, and let his hands fall away from her body.

“Alright,” he sighed. “We don’t have to. But. . .Have I upset you, Sansa?” His voice was so full of concern, his hands warm and delicate as they took hers in. Her heart nearly burst.

“No. No, it’s. . .it’s nothing you’ve done. I just. . .”

He raised his eyebrow at her, waiting for her to continue.

She was embarrassed now, and didn’t know how to put it into words without sounding like an insecure little girl. She took a deep breath and looked down to their hands when she spoke again.

“I’m not the same.” She lifted her eyes up to meet his gaze. His eyebrows were crinkled in confusion.

“I don’t understand, Sansa.” He half blinked. “What—what has changed?”

She could hear the uncertainty in his voice, the insecurity there that she hadn’t heard since he was a boy. Desperate to ease him of any worry that her desire for him had faltered, she rushed the words out without even thinking about them.

“My body. My body isn’t the same since little Robb was born. It isn’t the way it was the last time we were together. I’ve new marks and theres. . .there’s  more  of me now. I just don’t want you to be—“

And she knew how ridiculous it would sound, but she couldn’t help the way she felt. She  had  changed, and they both knew she would. But it was still something she struggled with. She was soft where she once was firm. Her thighs and bottom were larger than before, her belly no longer flat. His kisses were still as passionate and hungry as ever, but that nagging insecurity tugged at the edges of her mind, stealing her presence away from beneath his hands.

“You don’t want me to be what, Sansa?”

“Disappointed,” she let out with a sigh.

His brows furrowed closer together. “ _Disa_ —Sansa. Come here.” He pulled her in by her hands to stand between his knees where he sat, and hugged her to him.

“It’s the stupidest thing, I know, but—“

“Shh. It’s not stupid.” He whispered. He was rubbing her back and kissing her neck lightly through her hair. She felt better to have said it aloud. He held her for a while stroking her hair, and then he gently pushed away from her and met her with questioning eyes. “Sansa, all this time. . .did you—“

He flicked his eyes back and forth between hers, the question on his mind visible on the set of his brow and the way he squinted.

“Did I what?” Sansa prompted.

“Did you think I could ever find you undesirable?”

She shrugged her shoulders slightly, suddenly shy beneath his gaze.

Jon let out a small huff and blinked at her. He brought his hand up to cup her chin. “Sansa,” he whispered, his eyelids low, his other hand curling around her waist. He pressed his lips to hers softly. “You are mine,” he murmured into her mouth. “ _All_ of you. Forever. The parts of you that change and the parts that don’t.” He held either side of her face with his hands now, and tilted her to the side to deepen their kiss. Sansa felt the tears hot, stinging behind her eyelids. She knew this man of hers would love her always, but hearing it from his lips between his warm kisses soothed the whispering doubt away. “You believe me, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Sansa whispered back to him.

“Good,” he said. “I plan on proving it to you.” He leaned in to her ear, his lips just barely brushing over her earlobe when he whispered, “I’ll prove it to you all night, Sansa. Slow, the way you like it. And then as hard as you beg me to.” With a chaste kiss to her earlobe, he departed from her and went on to perform his kingly tasks.

Leaving her to stand in the middle of his solar, breathless and wild with impatience for the coming hours of the night.


	6. Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa get away into the woods on a cold autumn night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on day two of @jonsadungeonsanddrabbles on tumblr Jonsa autumn drabble week prompt list. Today is day two: Changes or Tradition. Obviously, I chose changes. (:

Almost as quickly as day turns to night did the leaves soak up the fiery crimson from the sky, swinging bright and soft from their branches. The crescent moon glowed pale and dull over them, partly hidden by dark clouds. 

A giggle started to swell in Sansa’s chest as he led her by her hand deeper and further into the wood. They weren’t children anymore, but sneaking around under the cover of night made Sansa feel like a girl about to be caught stealing lemon cakes.

“Shh,” he urged. “We don’t want to be discovered, do we?”

There was no one around who would find them, no one around who could stop them if they did, but his warning sent her heart aflutter anyway.

The whispering wind and the earth beneath their hurried steps were the only sounds. That, and the beating of her heart in her ears. The cold air bit her cheeks, but Sansa felt warm all over at his fingertips on her skin, and his need to get her alone.

He stopped walking suddenly, and Sansa looked up from the uneven ground to find him looking back at her. “Are we close?”

He took a step toward her, still holding her hand, and smiled a wolffish grin that made her stomach swoop. “Almost,” he rasped. “Is my lady growing tired? Shall I carry you?”

“Don’t be ridicu— _Jon_ !”

In one quick, sure movement, Sansa was lifted up into his arms and cradled against his chest, his low laughter rumbling against her. He took a few steps further into the wood, where the trees grew closer together and the light was hardly more than a faint glimmer. “Jon, you can barely see. You’re going to get hurt if you don’t put me down and—“

Jon kept walking, and before she could finish her sentence they reached a small clearing. Moonlight swept over them where they stood, revealing where Jon had been trying to get them to. He set her down. The ground was nearly flat, and there stood nothing but a weirwood tree right in the center. It was massive; bigger than the one in Winterfell. The branches spread out like thick giant fingers. The trunk was wide and snow white, and it’s leaves red as blood. Before it was a hot spring, and the water was so warm that misty clouds of heat rose from it.

“I’ve never...This is the biggest...how did you know this was here?”

“I went off into the wood one day alone. I needed to be by myself. And then I found this tree here, and...” he lowered his eyes from the tree to the ground and then looked back at her. “I know you’ve said you’re done with the gods, and with praying, and with songs. But, Sansa...” taking another step toward her, grasped both her hands and brought them to his chest, and closed the distance between them. “For all the turmoil, and all the pain...I think the gods have granted us at least this one blessing. Didn’t they?” His voice was low and raspy and made her chest swell. His lips were close to hers, like they’ve been so many times before. She’s tasted them countless times, but her hunger for him was never satisfied. Soft, and warm, and...

And she was getting distracted.

She dragged her gaze from his lips up to his eyes and nodded. Yes, the gods had done at least one thing right. In one final, earth shattering revelation, the word _cousin_ had changed everything between them. It was alright now, the way his eyes lingered on her lips. The way his hand rested on the small of her back when they embraced. The way she held him to her, desperate and needy, when he took her mouth with his. A whole world was created within them, shifting their reality from one form to another. Whispers in the dark and trembling fingertips were new to them both. Their breath tangling in the space between them after breaking apart from a long, needful kiss.

(Always breaking apart lest they crash into each other irreversibly.)

He smiles down at her. “Come,” he says, and pulls her toward the tree. He leaves her standing next to the hot spring and he disappears behind the trunk. He reappears just moments after, carrying thick furs in his arms. He starts to lay the blankets flat on the ground beneath the canopy of red leaves. “Are we sleeping here tonight, Your Grace?” Sansa asks teasingly. “It’s a bit cold for that, don’t you think?”

He extends a hand toward her once he’s finished laying the blankets out. She takes it, and he yanks her to him, flush against his chest. A yelp of surprise leaves her. “Don’t worry, Sansa,” he says, wrapping his arms around her waist. “I know how to keep my lady warm.” With that, he opens his lips over hers, and groans at the way she opens her mouth for him. “You don’t know how long I’ve waited to be all alone with you today, Sansa,” he murmurs into her mouth. He pulls them both down onto the furs, huddles in close, and he pulls the other blanket over them. They lay together for a good while. They talk of the day, of the uncertain things to come, of their hopes and worries. They remember Father, and when she talks of Mother he quiets and listens. They share chaste kisses and keep their hands intertwined beneath the furs. Now, his lips linger at her earlobe, sending a shiver through her. Jon chuckles. “Has it gotten too cold?” he whispers into her ear.

“Mmm,” Sansa hums. “I think you better show me how you plan to keep me warm.” He maneuvers them so Sansa is laying flat on her back, and he’s leaning on an elbow over her.

“As my lady commands.”

The tip of his tongue traces hot trails over her lips, and Sansa pushes out her own to meet it. The moan that leaves him makes her cheeks burn. He kisses her, slow and open mouthed, and now she’s not just warm, she’s  _simmering_ beneath his touch. He pulls away when he feels the roll of her hips against him. “ _Gods_ , Sansa,” he pants. “You make it difficult to hold back when you do that.” And now Sansa is smiling wolfishly up at him.

“Then don’t hold back,” she whispers.

He grins at her. “Not yet,” he says, and kisses the tip of her nose.

“When?” The question comes fast, making Jon laugh.

“After we’ve said our vows.” He kisses her cheek. “After I cloak you and devote myself to you before the eyes of gods and men.” He kisses her jaw. “After we have been pronounced husband and wife.” Her breath halts in her throat, right there beneath his lips. “After the ceremony, I’ll carry you to my bed— _our_ bed—and love you all night, any way you want me to,” he whispers hoarsely into the hallow of her throat. Sansa swallows thickly, her stomach tightening. “Will you do me that honor, Sansa? Will you be my wife and my queen?” His eyes look down at her with so much warmth, so much love, it’s almost too much for her to bear. She nods silently, tears forming at the corners of her eyes. Jon’s lips pull up into that smile that brightens his face and makes her heart skip a beat every time.

One word had changed everything between them. A whole world created between two people who had at one time scarcely thought of each other. Yet, just as easily as night turned to day and summer drifts into autumn, did Jon and Sansa turn from strangers to lovers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! 💛

**Author's Note:**

> I’m on tumblr as man-in-yell0w (:


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